


Together

by Zedrobber



Category: Crimson Peak - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon Major Character Death, F/M, consensual incest relationship, incest mentions, obviously, vague descriptions of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5203391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zedrobber/pseuds/Zedrobber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look, this has no plot. It's just a little ficlet from my musings about Thomas and Lucille, but there's so little thomas/lucille to go around on here yet that sapsorrow told me to publish it anyway. I fixed the ending of the film too, haha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

“I can’t be alone,” she had said, many times over the years. “You mustn’t leave me alone, or I’ll die.” It had been repeated often, through drying tears after vicious fights or in the wan sunlight of a peaceful morning, and his heart was full of sorrow and love and adoration for her. Of course he would never leave her- how could he? She had done so much to protect him, had looked after him, had loved him with everything she had- and he had returned the love with fierce abandon, idolising her in her grace and power and beauty and wanting to be half as strong as she was, even as he comforted her in the darkest part of the night as they lay curled together like children, her head on his chest and his face buried in her hair. He worshipped her and she, in her turn, was savagely, overwhelmingly protective of him to the exclusion of all else. There was only them; anyone else was a distraction, a means to an end, a way to make ends meet while they worked towards their future.

He was dimly aware that to others, what they had was wrong, unnatural even- but how on earth could it be wrong to love so much and be loved so fully? No one knew him better than she did; no one could begin to fathom his inventions or his work like she did, always seeing to the heart of a problem he was having with direct clarity, just as she did with everything else in their existence. He trusted her to get things done, to be the one to make the decisions he knew he wasn’t strong enough for, closing his eyes to them because he knew it must be done. She said she didn’t mind it, but he knew he was a disappointment and desperately wanted to make it right.

 

Edith had been his attempt to right everything- _he_ had picked her, _he_ knew she would be an easy target- she seemed young, innocent, and easy to convince. Lucille had taken more convincing than Edith had; she was rightly concerned by her youth- and possibly saw something he did not yet notice- but he had insisted; this would work, this would be the last time they would need to go through with marriage to make money. He had promised, had sworn to her that it would be like all the others, that he would never consummate the marriage, that he would barely even touch Edith, and Lucille had agreed though he could see the reservation in her eyes. She trusted him to do it right, to finish it properly. She couldn’t be alone.

He had failed spectacularly; he had no idea when love began to creep up on him, but it was a confusing mess, a tangle of guilt and joy and fear and disgust at himself that made everything seem so much more complicated than necessary.

He loved Lucille- passionately, intensely, with every inch of his soul. She consumed his every waking thought and sent him to sleep with a lullaby at night.

He loved Edith- gently, warmly, finding light in her smile and her laugh and seeking the sunlight in her eyes when there was none elsewhere.

He had not thought it possible to love two people at once- certainly had never done so in all the years he had been marrying for money- but there it was, and he couldn’t kill her. Not after that night at the depot, though certainly he had doubted before then. That night merely cemented his guilt and shame.

Lucille, of course, suspected there was something amiss before then- she was always clever, much more so than he was- but she took it silently, at least to his face. She was relentless in pursuing her plan, to the end- and that was what killed them both. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, he was sure; her shock and her anguish was real enough after the fact, but it didn’t stop the damage being done. His last thoughts were _you hurt me? I promised I wouldn’t leave you, I’m sorry-_ before consciousness slipped away and blackness swallowed him and he knew nothing more until he was somehow outside and it was cold, so cold. The world crowded in on him in a rush of noise and colour as though he was surfacing from underwater, but he could feel nothing except the coldness and confusion and stood still for a long moment, trying to remember how he had gotten outside in the first place-

 _I’m dead,_ he realised as he finally looked up, seeing Lucille turn to him with all the sanity she had clung to over the years fleeing from her eyes, leaving them wide and blank and scared. _I didn’t leave you! I’m here- I’m-_ he tried to say, but couldn’t make the words, couldn’t make his incorporeal body reach out to her as he realised that there could be only one ending for his sister that had any ounce of mercy, his eyes flicking to Edith as if to give permission. She couldn’t be alone.

Her death was quick, but not clean, and Thomas felt twisted up inside like crumpled paper as Edith touched his face, her hand warm and full of forgiveness he knew he could never begin to deserve. The world disappeared again and he wondered vaguely if he was going to Heaven or Hell- one attempt at righting a wrong could surely not make up for a life with his eyes closed.

 

-

 

She plays piano just as she did when she was alive; methodically, thoroughly, each finger caressing the keys with a calming motion that had always soothed her in life. She plays her lullaby, plays it over and over until the house thrums with it, and then she roams the halls with her keys clinking and her feet not touching the floor, pacing the places she frequented with her brother again and again.

She cannot be alone.

He is with her still; he remembers a vague surprise as he reappeared here, behind her as she played the haunting lullaby she had sung to him every night they had been together. It was only vague, though, and soon gone with the understanding that it was here he belonged after all, and always had been.

Her fingers tremble over the piano keys as she feels his presence disturb her sorrow, and he raises one pale hand to her shoulder, touching her blackness and making her smile silently, continuing her tune with smooth, careful fingers. The sepia of his hand bleeds into the swirling darkness of her ghost and makes a temporary grey as they merge.

She will never be alone; they must always stay together.

Always together; never apart.

 

 

 


End file.
